I Am the Paramour of the Dead Red Viper
by For the North
Summary: After Tyrion's trial by combat, Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne is killed by Ser Gregor Clegane. This is a one-shot told in Ellaria Sand's point of view. Mature!


_Ellaria Sand_

It's been a handful of terrible days since the trial for that stupid Imp. I've spent these days crying for so long, my eyes are as dry as the sands of Dorne. Beautiful Dorne, _our home. _The thought of returning to it without him feels incredibly cruel.

He is no more. He is gone - killed by that _creature_ he hated with all his soul. He should not have died in such a way. He should have died an old man, making love or at the very least, with my lips around that glorious cock of his. He should have died in Sunspear, overlooking his grandchildren and great-grandchildren playing in the Water Gardens. He should not have died at all.

Oh Oberyn. My beautiful, wonderful lover.

He called me his paramour. And I know he loved me just as ferociously as I loved him. Being with Oberyn was the most effortless thing in the world. The day we met, we became one - body and soul. We belonged to each other just as we belonged to ourselves. Just as the sun belongs in the sky until it's the moon's turn to breathe.

We never should have came to this disgusting place. _King's Landing._ Before we left home, Oberyn warned me how I would hate it just as much as he did. I asked him then why we should go at all to this terrible place. He smiled at me and told me it was time. Time for his vengeance. I would have never denied him a thing he so dearly desired.

We shouldn't have left home. Time stood still for us in Dorne. The world didn't move except for the rocking of the waves of the Dornish Sea and the rocking of Oberyn's hips into mine. We spent days joined as one.

The red silk sheets of our bed were stained dark with sweat as he fucked me so beautifully, I prayed to the love goddess of Lys to never let the exquisite agony end.

The cool breeze of the night pebbled my nipples, and the stars shined in his dark eyes as I rode him so hard, he couldn't stand for hours afterward. My lover told me that my hands felt just like the soft scarves I used to tie his wrists when he needed to be punished. Oberyn _hated _when we wasn't able to stroke my back or pull my hair as I sucked and ran my teeth along the length of cock.

They say the Dornish are a people who have heat in their hearts and sand in their veins. I don't know if this is true. But I know for certain the way my lover's tongue branded the skin between my breasts, and his sword calloused hands burned the insides of my thighs as he would open me up as wide as possible, so I could take all of him. I loved being so full. He did this often, and twice, it resulted in the birth of our daughters - Loreza and Elia.

Our daughters, our sweet babes. Obella, Loreza, Dorea, and Elia. Our beautiful little Sand Snakes, no longer so little. All of our children brought such joy to him. I gave him only four, but I love his other children as though they are my own. Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sarella are just as dear to me as they were to him. Gods, he was so proud of them. He was the greatest father: patient, thoughtful, protective, guiding, encouraging, _loving_.

My lover was such a complex man. The world could never have been enough for one as great as Oberyn Martell. He was made of light. A light comforting enough to soothe, and dangerous enough to kill. My lover was fearless, and feared by everyone in the seven kingdoms.

I heard The Mountain is dying. They say it is the poison from my lover's spear that is killing him. I hope this is true. I hope my viper struck him as he longed to do for so many years. Revenge for his sister and her children was almost all Oberyn thought about. He craved the blood of those involved in their deaths as a drunk craves wine. Two of them died from outside forces - Robert Baratheon and Amory Lorch. Gregor Clegane is dying. Tywin Lannister is alive, but with any hope, he won't be for long.

The Dornish will not forgive my Oberyn's death. They loved their prince. Sweet Doran will not forgive. He loved his brother, he _needed_ him.

I will not forgive.

I am taking my lover's remains back to Dorne, away from this filthy place. I am taking him home to Sunspear. We will bless him. We will lay him to rest. I will comfort our children. Most will move on. I will not.

_I will not._


End file.
